


A dance of politics

by Jean_grantaire



Series: Résistance [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, M/M, WW2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jean_grantaire/pseuds/Jean_grantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras travels to Vichy France to establish national connections. Grantaire accompanies him to conquer a(n illegal) dance hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A dance of politics

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: alcohol, mentions of Nazism

The jazz music leaps and soars through the air of the hall over the buzz of voices, and Grantaire would swear he hasn’t heard anything so cheerful since he and Lesgles were teenagers dancing for free drinks in Weimar Berlin, young enough to be reckless and carefree with it, his entire month’s allowance blown on bargaining with a freight train driver to take them there and back and their accommodation the rooms of any girls or kind souls who would have them.  
Despite the fact that the hall is nothing more than a farmer’s barn in the middle of nowhere (precautions quite necessary for it to exist at all), the music is loud and the space is full of people dancing and drinking and laughing, and Grantaire could happily sit out the rest of the war here rather than in Paris. Since 1940, the city has been grey and unwelcoming and shackled in Germany’s trophy cupboard. Here, though, France is timeless. The influence of Pétain and Laval can’t be felt between the trees and fields of cows, the rough German language takes no place here and the countryside is relatively unscarred and unscathed by the war compared to the weary towns and cities.  
Grantaire blames his burst of poetic, nostalgic melancholy on the excellent drink in his hand, and returns to dancing.  
Enjolras is here somewhere, likely talking politics with the more serious of their company, but for once Grantaire is hardly even thinking about him, is hardly thinking at all between the instinctive, easy way he moves with the music and the seemingly endless stream of willing dance partners – a few men as well as the girls given how outnumbered they are, but he is far from complaining. In fact, it is only when he is on his way to find another drink and rest his feet for a few minutes than Grantaire remembers Enjolras is here at all, and even then only because he almost trips over him at the makeshift bar.  
Luckily, his drink spills over the floor rather than Enjolras, and he is caught by a pair of surprisingly strong hands before he follows after it. Apparently Enjolras has run out of serious company for the moment, as it is only when Grantaire sits beside him on the covered bale of straw serving as bar stools (or, rather, a bar bench) than he realises they are quite alone.  
“You have kept at your heroic declinations.” Grantaire observes, watching Enjolras with little subtlety. “Is there some terrible secret to it? God has compressed your failings into one corner and given you a second left foot? You cannot take to the dance floor without weaving a curse into your steps and being stuck there until your feet bleed through your shoes and even your heart gives up the chase out of sheer exhaustion?” He pauses at that, frowns. “There is some fairy story to that.” Perhaps he’s drunker than he had thought. Perhaps he’s more ignorant than he had thought.  
Enjolras, by contrast, looks faintly amused as he interrupts the flow of Grantaire’s words. “My feet are perfectly normal.” He assures Grantaire, which, well. That is a blatant lie. Without having ever seem them, he is certain more beauty lies in Enjolras’ feet than in the entire bodies of most people, and he tells him so.  
“You, normal? I reject your words; I refuse your logic. Was Achilles normal? Alexander? You are of the same stock: future sculptors will work your feet from marble to tread the floors of galleries.” Grantaire drains the rest of his glass before he can say anything further (he fears that his words already have been too soft, judging by Enjolras’ expression. Damn.) and stands up. “Come, I will prove it.”  
Enjolras looks entirely surprised by his offer, and Grantaire is just about to step away and find several more glasses of whatever it is he has been drinking when he stands up. “Very well. Grantaire, I consent to try you.”  
Grantaire blinks, but recovers himself quickly enough to lead Enjolras away from the straw bales to the dancing and doesn’t dare turn just in case Enjolras has vanished until it is to dance. He searches Enjolras’ expression, then, but only briefly – Enjolras is set in this idea now that he has agreed to it, and he will not be dissuaded. Grantaire offers him his hand and waits for Enjolras to step closer, a perfect gentleman here regardless of how he had been treating the giggling girls he was dancing with earlier. He knows Enjolras can dance, has witnessed it once or twice for causes far more noble than this, but the style is apparently unfamiliar to him as he glances to the couple next to them for a moment before stepping closer to rest his hand atop Grantaire’s and place the other on his shoulder, his actions graceful but firm and unhesitating.  
Grantaire is not quite certain how much of his next idea can be credited to himself and how much is the alcohol sloshing through him and the atmosphere buzzing around them, but as he settles his free hand carefully on Enjolras’ side he lifts the other to kiss the back of Enjolras’ hand as though he was dancing with any of the girls in the hall. He is half-expecting Enjolras to jerk his hand away. He is certainly not expecting Enjolras to turn their hands over and return the gesture, and is only convinced that the moment is real at all by how he promptly trips over his own feet and nearly knocks over the couple next to them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm already pretty swamped with UCAS deadlines and schoolwork, so this series probably won't continue to exist unless I know people like it! Kudos and comments really do make my day, so please feel free to leave feedback here or find me on tumblr at Jean-grantaire!


End file.
